


An Athos Christmas

by AZGirl



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood, Christmas, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:31:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: That's what Christmas is all about, Athos.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of weeks back, I thought it might be fun to try my hand at writing a Christmas-themed Musketeers story. Soon afterwards, this one image came to mind, but not a plot; that came a few days later. I hope you enjoy the results. Let me know if you can guess what the first part to come to my mind was.   
> .

**ooooooo**

“ _That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown_.” – Linus, “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” 

**ooooooo**

Athos watched as another noble who had overindulged on the King’s fine wine was escorted to somewhere he could sleep off the alcohol. The man’s wife had already joined the other nobles accompanying the King and Queen, who were already on their way to the midnight mass being held at Notre Dame. Seeing the rotund, older man stagger, and hearing him loudly – and rudely – protest being handled in such a way, only served to remind him of just how depressed he’d been feeling this holiday season. 

King Louis, wishing to be better liked by his people, demanded that a series of lavish gatherings celebrating the Christmas season be held at the palace. When Tréville told the Musketeer regiment this news, a collective groan was uttered by the men. The only one who did not groan in a mixture of frustration and disappointment was d’Artagnan, whose expression finally lifted from the melancholic one he’d been wearing for the better part of a week. Curiosity had broken through, reminding Athos that it was d’Artagnan’s first Christmas season in Paris, and that he was not yet fully aware of how demanding and unreasonable their King could be during this time period. Athos was certain that d’Artagnan’s curiosity would soon turn to disbelief at best, and disgust at worst, once he was regularly assigned duty at the palace. 

Though he did not have the sort of loving relationship d’Artagnan had had with his parents, Athos still missed his own parents – and brother – the most throughout the Christmas season. He could only imagine how much more difficult this Christmas must be for the younger man as it was the first since his father had tragically died and his childhood home had been burned down to the ground. D’Artagnan had experienced so much loss during the past year that it was completely understandable that the Gascon was not quite enjoying the season. 

The winter had been particularly cold, and with d’Artagnan lacking the funds for enough warm clothing, the younger man had been nearly constantly shivering. Athos wished he could help in some small way, but the Gascon tended to refuse anything he considered to be charity. 

Because of d’Artagnan, Athos had been thinking recently of his parents’ traditional, yearly gift to him and his brother, Thomas, when he passed a particular stall in the marketplace. The color of one of the items drew him in, and soon he was purchasing one for d’Artagnan. He was only a few steps away from the stall before he suddenly turned back and purchased two more, thinking d’Artagnan would accept the gift if both Porthos and Aramis each received one as well. For the first time in over five years, Athos would uphold this tradition, one that he’d maintained even after his parents had passed away. 

As he walked towards the garrison that afternoon, he couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face as he thought of the shocked expressions on his friends’ faces as he presented them with their gifts. Due to a general lack of funds in past years, they had never before exchanged gifts, and had instead gone out to dinner at one of the better taverns. This would be the first year he would break with that particular tradition. 

However, since the day he’d bought the gifts, he’d sunk into a kind of depression, which felt different from his usual melancholy over the situation surrounding his brother’s death. Christmas was coming, but he did not feel at all happy about it. Since his brother had been killed, he had gotten used to believing something was wrong with him, but this Christmas he was having difficulties feeling anything close to what he was supposed to at this time of year. 

He couldn’t understand the King’s excesses, even though he had indulged in a few of them himself once upon a time. The one thing he had previously looked forward to this Christmas was to give his friends their presents. Everything else seemed unimportant despite it being the first Christmas they were to celebrate with d’Artagnan as one of their own. 

He tried explaining his problem to Aramis, but the marksman couldn’t seem to understand what was going on with him. 

“I think there’s something wrong with me, Aramis.” 

“More than the usual?” 

Bestowing one of his most intense glares upon Aramis, who then mouthed the word “sorry,” Athos continued, “I just don’t understand Christmas anymore. I always end up feeling depressed.” 

“Athos, you’re the only person I know who can take a wonderful season like Christmas and turn it into a problem.” 

When he spoke to Porthos about it, his friend tried to diagnose his problem, listing the things he was usually in a bad mood about in order to figure out which one or ones were the culprit. When Athos had explained it was all those things and more, Porthos had suggested that he get involved with planning the garrison’s Christmas dinner, perhaps enlisting d’Artagnan’s help in order to get the younger man’s mind off the fact that it was his first Christmas without his blood family. Athos hoped that someday soon d’Artagnan would realize that he had a new family, not just with their fellow brothers-in-arms, but a closer one with him, Aramis, and Porthos. 

Later that day, Athos met up with Serge and Porthos in the garrison’s kitchen in order to discuss a plan of action. When it was announced that he would be taking over acquiring the meal for the garrison’s Christmas dinner, several of the Musketeers on hand had muttered, “We’re doomed.” 

He stoically endured the pointed comments about how they would have to drink the same swill Athos usually drank in the tavern, and eat God only knew what when he forgot to order the food. Athos knew not many people liked him, and wondered why there needed to be a holiday season to emphasize that fact. It was in that moment that Athos decided to pull out all the stops and purchase food and drink of a higher quality than the garrison could usually afford, even with the King’s “generosity” towards his Musketeers regiment at this time of year. 

When the King had announced he wanted to have a series of parties, Captain Tréville had had to rearrange the duty schedules to fit the new demands. In the end, he decided to have the different squads draw lots to determine which shifts they would serve in hopes of keeping arguments and complaining down to a minimum. 

Aramis, who drew the duty lot for their squad, had chosen one where they would go off duty at midnight on Christmas Eve. The four of them considered it a lucky draw, because it meant they would get some uninterrupted sleep that night, and Aramis would be able to attend at least part of the midnight mass. 

On Christmas Eve, just before he was to leave with his friends for the palace, Athos received a message from the establishment he’d ordered the dinner for the garrison. He read the bad news with growing shock and dismay. There had been a small fire in the kitchen, and it looked like the promised meal might not be delivered on time, or even at all. Athos wanted to crawl under a rock at the idea that the other Musketeers’ predictions, that there would only be alcohol and not food for their meal, would be completely accurate. 

“Everything I do turns into disaster,” he said aloud, prompting his friends to ask for an explanation. 

Somehow word of the bad news made it around to the other Musketeers on duty with them, and he’d heard laughter at his expense more than once over his failure. 

With this last noble being shunted off to bed, the men on this rotation, including him and his friends, were officially off duty.  The overnight duty group of Musketeers had arrived and would stand guard during the post-mass meal the King was hosting for a select few. 

As a couple of men were leaving, one bumped his shoulder and muttered, “Completely hopeless.” 

His three friends, having overheard the comment wanted to go after the Musketeer, but Athos stopped them, not wanting his friends to get in trouble for his sake, though he appreciated the gesture. 

“I guess I don’t really understand what Christmas is really about anymore.”—Athos bowed his head and rubbed at his tired eyes—“Doesn’t anyone know what Christmas is all about?” 

Just at that moment, in order to exit the palace, the man who made the comment opened a door leading out to the garden, allowing a blast of cold air into the room, which blew out all of the candles. Except for the fireplace at the other end of the room, the remaining Musketeers were left in near-darkness. 

“Sure, Athos,” Aramis replied. “I can tell you what Christmas is all about.” 

Aramis relit one of the candles; the light from the flame cast an ethereal glow over the whole of the man’s upper body. His friend picked up the candlestick, its flame dancing slightly, as he began to speak: 

“ _And there were in the same country, shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over the flock by night.  
_

_And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them: and they were sore afraid.  
_

_And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for behold, I bring you tidings of great joy which will be to all people.  
_

_For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.  
_

_And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.  
_

_And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,  
_

_Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men_.” 

Aramis moved to stand directly in front of Athos, the light of the candle’s flame now illuminating both of their faces. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Aramis squeezed it gently, before adding, “That’s what Christmas is all about, Athos.” 

A feeling Athos could not describe settled into the very core of his soul. He took a step backward, allowing Aramis’s hand to drop from his shoulder. Smiling slightly, he turned away from his friends, and started briskly walking out of the palace. 

He was on his horse and riding away before he could hear his friends worriedly calling after him. Once he had entered the garrison’s gate, he quickly dismounted, and rushed to his room. Though he had bought the gifts for his friends, and had wrapped them up in new handkerchiefs tied closed with lengths of ribbon, he’d long ago talked himself out of giving them out. Athos didn’t want his friends to feel obligated to purchase him something in return when he knew they did not have the extra funds. 

However, as he had traveled back to the garrison, Aramis’s recent words echoed in his head. 

_For behold, I bring you_ _tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord._

That was what Christmas was all about, and it made him want to give something back to those in his life who mattered most to him. It would also provide an opportunity for him to share a little bit of his life from before he’d met his friends, who were now as close to him as brothers. 

He almost literally ran into his three closest friends when he re-entered the garrison’s courtyard. Fumbling the gifts, and almost dropping one, he just managed to keep a hold of all of them. 

Porthos began to ask what was wrong with him, but he interrupted his friend. 

“Porthos, I apologize for interrupting, but if I don’t do this now, I might never do it.”—Athos quickly handed each of his friends a small, wrapped bundle—“When I was growing up, my parents had this tradition. They… They would give Thomas and me a new one”—he indicated the as yet unopened gifts—“every year. That’s why—. Well, you’ll see. I decided to renew the tradition this year. Please. Open them.” 

As one, his friends grinned at his lack of usual eloquence and formality in speaking, and began opening their gifts. 

Freed from their cloth coverings, three expertly-woven scarves were revealed: dark green for Porthos, navy blue for Aramis, and bright red for d’Artagnan. 

Aramis and Porthos immediately put their scarves around their necks, and profusely thanked him with enthusiastic handshakes and affectionate squeezes of his shoulders. 

However, d’Artagnan stood frozen, rooted in place, looking down at his scarf with a devastated expression on his face. Despite knowing how d’Artagnan felt about charity, Athos had a feeling that was not the issue. 

In an attempt to get a feel for what d’Artagnan was thinking, he said, “If you do not like the color—” 

At his words, d’Artagnan’s head suddenly whipped up from the scarf in his hands, and he locked eyes with Athos for a moment. Without saying a word, d’Artagnan suddenly turned and ran out of the garrison as if the hounds of Hell were snapping at his feet. 

“I’ve hurt him somehow. Everything I touch gets ruined,” Athos said dejectedly before heading in the opposite direction back towards his room. 

He ignored Porthos and Aramis calling his name in favor of the siren call of the bottle of wine he knew he had in his room. A few minutes later, Aramis knocked on his door, asking him to come out, but he remained quiet, content to drink the bottle of wine in his hands dry, and wishing he had more so that he could forget the look d’Artagnan had on his face. 

Aramis eventually left him alone, but not before he wished him a _Joyeux Noël_. 

The next day, Porthos informed him that he managed to catch up to d’Artagnan when the Gascon was on his way back to the garrison. D’Artagnan refused to reveal where he had gone, though Porthos assured him that the younger man was in good health when they’d parted. 

Soon afterwards, the alcohol for the garrison’s Christmas dinner arrived, and Athos had to endure more ribbing from his fellow Musketeers. He tried to explain the circumstances, but none of the men would listen to him. Because of the fire, he had no idea what the people he’d hired to prepare the dinner would serve beyond bread and cheese. Due to the late notice, and having to be on duty the previous night, he’d not had the chance to follow up or order more food from a different establishment. 

Their Christmas dinner was ruined, and it was all his fault. He buried his face in his hands; after a moment, he felt two hands land on his shoulders, gripping them in silent support. 

Oddly enough, this disaster of a meal didn’t bother him half as much as the fact that he’d not yet seen d’Artagnan on this Christmas day. The younger man seemed to be avoiding him, and he wondered if their friendship was in peril due to his error with the scarf. 

The men were beginning to gather for the meal, and Serge was muttering something about cheese, when a cart entered the main gates. 

From the smells wafting out from the back of the cart, Athos was certain that it was the food he had ordered. But how? 

When the hired men began unloading the cart, the Musketeers let out a loud cheer in his honor. Athos was shocked at the near miracle of the food’s arrival, as he watched his brothers-in-arms begin to dig into the food after Aramis recited a short prayer. 

“Athos,” Porthos said, stealing his attention away from the sight of his fellow Musketeers enjoying themselves. 

When he turned to see what Porthos wanted, he caught sight of d’Artagnan, who was wearing the red scarf around his neck. 

D’Artagnan boldly walked right up to him, but when he came face-to-face with him, the younger man suddenly looked abashed. 

“I’m so, so sorry for running out on you like that yesterday. I didn’t mean to…but your gift…and I was so grateful…”—he gestured towards the Christmas feast—“So I had to do something… I couldn’t let…”—the young man made a frustrated sound and took a deep breath, slowly releasing it—“At first, the reason why I left… My parents…they had the same tradition, so I was a bit surprised when I saw… What I mean to say is…”—d’Artagnan wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug—“Thank you.” 

Seconds later, they felt two sets of arms come around the both of them as Aramis and Porthos said, “Merry Christmas.” 

D’Artagnan briefly squeezed him tighter before whispering into his ear, “Merry Christmas, Athos.” 

Family… This too was what Christmas is all about. 

ooooooo 

_The end._

**ooooooo**

**Author's Note:**

> .  
>  If it wasn’t blatantly obvious by the end, I liberally borrowed from my favorite Christmas show, “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” written by Charles M. Schulz. 
> 
> The Bible text quoted in this story, and in “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” was Luke 2: 8-14 (King James Version).
> 
> Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for her proofing skills! Remaining mistakes are my fault. 
> 
> ***This story is dedicated to everyone who took time out of their busy lives to read even the smallest fraction of one of my stories. I would like to express my gratitude to everyone who read, reviewed, bookmarked, and left kudos on my stories this past year. I don’t think I can adequately describe what your kind words have meant to me. Thank You! :o]
> 
> Merry Christmas! Joyeux Noël! Happy Holidays!


End file.
